


Whiskey in the jar (English Version)

by Omega_White



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Beta Wanted, Brutal Murder, Drama, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Not Beta Read, Organized Crime, Singing, Turks (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega_White/pseuds/Omega_White
Summary: Rude just wants to get the mission over with. But Reno is getting drunk… and doesn’t stop singing that stupid song.
Kudos: 2





	Whiskey in the jar (English Version)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Whiskey in the jar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611614) by [Omega_White](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega_White/pseuds/Omega_White). 



> Story is not beta read / I am not a native speaker

WHISKEY IN THE JAR

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„As I was goooing ooover… the cork and Keeerry mooountains… I saw Captain Daaarrell… … Farrell… Fa… … Fa… Fuck! Damn it, Rude, what was that bloody guy’s name again?”

The tall, bald man looks up from his cellphone in confusion, frowns, and then sighs. “Which guy?”, he asks, earning an impatient eyeroll. 

“The one from the song I just sang. The fucking captain. What’s his name?!”

The tall man measures his longtime partner with a flat stare. “I have no idea whom you’re talking about, Reno.”, he says dismissively, glancing back at his phone. “I wasn’t listening.” His tone of voice suggests that there are more important things than the name of some random guy from a song. 

But his partner seems to have a completely different opinion. He pouts and takes a long swig from his glass. Whiskey. On the rocks. And way too much of it…, at least that’s what the bald man thinks. Not that his opinion would make any difference. 

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be, Rude!”, the redhead complains. “You never listen to me! Hey, we’re colleagues… Partners in crime!” He chuckles before raising his voice and waving wildly with his hands. “Hey, barkeeper! My glass is empty!” As if to emphasize his words, he empties his glass in one go and loudly bangs it on the table. 

“Pull yourself together, will you?”, Rude flares up before looking around attentively. “We’re not here for fun!”

Apart from himself and his partner, four guests have ended up in the shabby little low-town pub. Despite the thick cigarette smoke that fills the dimly lit taproom and makes breathing a real challenge, the people can be seen clearly. A businessman is reading the newspaper at one of the small tables by the window. He drinks a coffee and sporadically scribbles something into a small black notebook. Two young women with way too much make-up and way too short skirts are sitting on a couch on the opposite wall. They are whispering and laughing and smoking one cigarette after another. And a short, rather inconspicuously looking man around fifty is sitting on a bar stool at the counter. He always comes here, wearing the same brown trench coat and ill-fitting trousers, every Tuesday and Wednesday and the occasional Saturday. Just like today. He just sits there, drinking beer in silence. His third by now. 

The barkeeper washes one last cup before refilling Reno’s glass. Rude would really like to send him away again. It’s just not right, Reno drinking so much. It’s not only because they are on a mission – Reno can drink as much as he wants and still be sober enough when it comes to killing, torturing or blackmailing. It’s mostly because Reno becomes obnoxious when in his cups. Insufferable. But Reno is a grown man and does not appreciate constructive criticism at all. So Rude just orders some water and submits to his fate. 

„I first produuuced my pistoool… … and then produuuced my rapiiier… … I said… – Stand and deliver! Or the devil… he may take-ya! Musha-rain, dummadooo dummadaaaa…-”

“Stop singing already, for heaven’s sake!”

In fact, Reno isn’t actually singing. It is more like some kind of incoherent mumbling of those stupid lyrics, all the while staring strangely and absentmindedly into some void that only he can see. Rude hates this particular side of Reno. It’s easier when Reno is cold, brutal. An asshole. He can deal with assholes, but he can’t deal with… this. 

“What’s the matter with you?!”, Reno complains and glares at his partner before raising his hands as if in surrender. “Yeah, right, I know – We’re not here for fun. I get it… What time is it?”

Rude ignores Reno’s behavior and takes a look at his phone. “Almost twenty to eleven.”, he says… And Reno starts laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”, Rude asks with a biting undertone that makes Reno laugh even harder. He pulls himself together and waits impatiently for Reno to calm down again.

“That stupid phone!”, Reno finally manages to answer. “It’s nearly as bad as those ridiculous sunglasses you’re always wearing! Wherever we go, you constantly look at your phone. Why don’t you just look at the damn clock?!” 

Truth be told, Rude hadn’t even noticed the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter – Just above the head of the man with the trench coat. How could he have missed it? He had looked in this particular direction so often…

“Just checking for mails.”, Rude answers because it’s the only answer that comes to his mind. And instead of laughing again, Reno just grins at him, nearly conspiratorially, as if Rude has been telling a joke that only the two of them can understand. How strange…

His thoughts are interrupted when the barkeeper brings Rude a glass of water, and suddenly he regrets not ordering something stronger. Reno insists on them clinking glasses, exclaiming “Let’s drink to alcohol!” in some inapt attempt at a toast, and Rude doesn’t know whether it’s meant ironically or not… There is not much he is sure about anymore when it comes to Reno. ‘Let’s drink to a cozy bed and a dreamless sleep’, he adds silently as he takes a sip of water. It’s what he will need when this blasted night is finally over. 

“Did you know this song is actually a folk song?”, Reno immediately starts talking again. Rude just nods and checks his phone again, hoping against hope that Reno would just drink his whiskey in silence and leave him alone. Or at least pass out from all the alcohol. Though that would mean Rude would have to do the dirty work all by himself and that’s… not a tempting prospect either. 

“Yes…”, Reno continues and brushes a strand of red hair from his face. “There’s this guy who robs the police chief and takes the money home to his chick, you know? But the little bitch betrays him and he ends up in jail…”

He looks dead serious for a moment and there is something in his eyes, some kind of profundity that hasn’t been there before. “And the song is about whiskey”, he continues and the moment is gone. “Lots of whiskey… Whiskey in the jar-oh…” He raises his glass high above his head and swings it back and forth, making the half-melted ice cubes hitting its edges. Then he drains the glass with three big gulps and grimaces. “That’s probably why I like this song so much…”

Rude gives a short laugh and shakes his head. He has to smile despite himself. As much as he hates his partner when he is drunk, he has never learned to be mad at him in earnest. Reno can be a cheeky bastard when he is sober and an insolent pain in the ass when drunk, but either way he gets the job done without batting an eyelid... and still has the nerve to crack a joke. 

Rude wonders what Reno would do without alcohol. And at the same time, where all of this will lead in the end… How did Reno call them? Partners in crime? How accurate a definition. He looks at the clock - intentionally not at his phone – and realizes that another ten minutes have passed by since he last checked. But the two women are finally paying their bill and getting ready to leave – A sight that fills Rude with great relief. He is glad that the women are the first ones to go. 

“Do you think there is a CD player or a jukebox or something like that?”, Reno muses, still oblivious to the most recent events. “I would really like to hear that song. But at least I need a new glass of…” He falls silent when he notices Rude’s pointed gaze. One look in the eyes, one look at the clock, and one at the door. 

Reno nods briefly and Rude asks the barkeeper for the bill while the two women put on their jackets and disappear into the night. He gives the barkeeper way too much money, and the man just nods and counts the bills. He seems used to this kind of business. He thanks Rude politely, wishes a safe journey home, and then hurries out of the taproom. Meanwhile, the two remaining guests remain oblivious. The businessman reads his newspaper and the man at the counter stares straight ahead. An evening like any other is seemingly drawing to a close. 

Reno sighs and stretches extensively before getting up and shuffling across the taproom towards the door. In passing, he draws his pistol and shoots the man at the counter in the back of his head. 

Blood splatters the clock on the wall and as the dead man’s head sinks lifelessly down on the counter, the businessman by the window drops his newspaper and starts screaming. Reno jerks around to face him, gun still holding in his outstretched hand. “Get up.”, he orders in a voice that is sober and devoid of any emotion. “Now.”

The man gets up hesitantly. He raises his arms in surrender, the way vendors supposedly do during a robbery. He probably knows situations like this from the television alone. “P-Please don’t hurt me!”, the man stammers, wide eyes fixed on Reno in terror, and Rude notices his trousers turning moist between his legs. Reno sneers in disgust. 

“Over here!”, he demands, pointing the pistol at the ground in front of him. “Now! We don’t have all night!” 

The man is trembling all over. Sweat runs down his milky white face and drips from his forehead. His hands are still raised in surrender. “Please…”, he begs. His voice is high-pitched and breathless. “I have a wife… And children…”

“Oh really?”, Reno says, unimpressed. “I don’t. Now turn to the side a little… To the left… Just a little more… Yes. That’s perfect.”

Rude doesn’t know at which point he has lowered his gaze. Or why. He stares at his phone, scrolling unseeing, when the first shot is fired. He hears a horrified scream - “No, no, please- “– before a second shot turns the scream into wet and ugly gurgling sounds. A third shot finally brings silence. 

Rude puts on his coat and all but flees from the room, almost tripping over the body on the floor. The air outside is fresh and crisp and does nothing to calm him down. He draws a deep and shuddering breath, feeling terribly sick all of the sudden. ‘I’m getting too old for this’, he thinks as Reno steps out of the bar behind him.

“What a night, huh?”, the redhead says, seemingly without a care in the world. The coldness has left his voice as if it had never been there. “Didn’t you say we weren’t here for fun?” 

He gives Rude a crooked smile, but when he becomes aware of the look on Rude’s face, the false amusement dies away instantly. “Hey…”, he says, tone more serious, almost caring. “Let’s be glad it wasn’t the girls, yes? Would have been a real shame…” Then he sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like this, Rude! Damn it, I wasn’t the one who suggested that some other civilian should take the blame! Because blah, the man just pulls his pistol and shoots the poor and unsuspecting idiot at the counter, threatens the barkeeper, and the friendly Turks next door come along to save the day… Which no one will believe anyway but then again, no one will ask questions in the first place. Because no one gives a fuck about it!” He glares at Rude accusingly. “So, if you want to blame someone, don’t let it be me! You should know better! You’re a Turk after all…” 

The bite leaves his voice and suddenly he seems very tired. Drained. His shoulders sag and he takes a few steps, massaging his temples while Rude still stands unmoving. “I think I need more whiskey…”, Reno mumbles as he starts his journey home without looking back. 

Rude watches his partner shuffle down the dimly lit street and wonders for a second time this day where all of this will lead in the end… What will Reno do, now? Will he retire for the night? Will sleep elude him as he tosses and turns, wide-awake eyes seeing more clearly than ever? Will he drink until he passes out on the couch yet again? Or will he find some late-night bar and drive the barkeeper crazy with his singing and talking and… Rude shakes his head and glances through one of the bar’s windows, where the barkeeper is talking agitatedly into his phone, probably telling the police the sequence of events they all agreed upon earlier. They had given him enough money to ensure him playing along. 

So in the end, the barkeeper is a little richer and the president has gotten rid of one of his harshest critics. And maybe later tonight, some woman and children will cry themselves to sleep after the police paid them a visit… But something like this is not uncommon in a city this large, in a district this seedy. People get killed all the time, while others shake their head in hypocritical consternation and forget all about it the following day. Why should it matter? Why should it matter to him?

It shouldn’t. Rude just has to go home, get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow, everything will be back to normal. And Reno…

Reno is a wreck. A professional, cold, arrogant and seemingly unscrupulous wreck with a drinking problem. 

Only sometimes, when Rude looks at his partner in the right moment… from the right angle… while he is busy getting drunk and babbling random things, seemingly cheerful and uncaring… In these moments, Rude realizes that Reno has a conscience after all.

And in these moments, Rude can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

But they are Turks and… Somehow that just explains everything. 

„Musha-rain, duma-dooo-duma-daaa…“, Rude sings silently as he strolls through the empty streets. The grave lyrics combined with the happy melody create a contrast that seems quite fitting. Life is only bearable with a fair share of irony. A bitter truth that Rude will have to get used to. 

„Whack-fooor my daaaddy- oooh , theeeres – whiskey in the jar-oooh…”

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THE END


End file.
